


Hetalia: Sochi 2014

by Witchy1ness



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 2014 Winter Olympics, Athletes, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 19:18:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7520012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Witchy1ness/pseuds/Witchy1ness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is why Canada loves the Olympics: international camaraderie, high-paced competitions....and the chance to stick it to America.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hetalia: Sochi 2014

**Author's Note:**

> A seriously belated one-shot for Sochi 2014. In my defense, I did actually write this right after the Olympics, it has just languished on my hard drive since then... I don't own Hetalia or any recognizable characters; they are all the property of Hidekaz Himaruya.
> 
> Reviews and constructive criticism welcome, flames will be ignored.

Canada _loved_ the Olympics.

It wasn’t just the fact that it was as close to a vacation as he ever got to take; it wasn’t even the excitement of having people and their country representatives from all over the world gathered in one place for something other than an argument; but for the simple reason that _whatever_ the reason, when the Olympics came round, _the other countries remembered him._ There were no more (ok, less) people sitting on him because they thought the chair was empty, and people hardly ever forgot who he was when discussing athletes or results. 

And yes, Sochi had had its issues. Unfinished hotels and hotels rooms, open manholes in the streets, dubious plumbing, to name a few. When Canada had timidly approached Russia to ask about having some of the issues resolved, Russia had smiled at him (sending Canada’s heart into paroxysms of fear) and cheerfully replied that the missing hotel doors were in the Olympic spirit of fostering togetherness, and the piddly hotel troubles helped build character, _da_? Canada had frantically nodded agreement and escaped, taking refuge in a nearby sports bar, determinedly basking in the attempted ‘Canadianness’ of it.

Of course, not all issues had been resolved so, erm, smoothly. Wanting to adopt the stray wolf (that turned out to not be a stray at all – or really a wolf – or even _in_ Russia) that American Luger Kate Hansen had tweeted about had brought Matthew very close to going after his brother with a hockey stick (Rugby, the so-called ‘wolf of Sochi’ – who was, in actuality, a Timber Wolf hybrid – had gotten on famously with Kumajiro when Matthew had followed his brother back to the States, intent on seeing the animal). 

Alfred, of course, had thought the video hoax and the resulting security scare had been hilarious, blatantly ignoring (as was his wont) the fact that security at Sochi had been on razor’s edge _already_ because of terrorist threats. Matthew had been so piqued at his brother he’d promptly helped rescue a mother dog and her half dozen half-grown puppies. He’d only wound up taking the mother and two of the puppies, as Germany had taken the other four (he’d seen him give Italy one later that day).

Or course, the fact that the Olympics provided many, _many_ other opportunities to stick it to the States (as well as the reverse, the honest Canuck was forced to admit) _may_ have also had a little to do with the fact that Matthew’s adrenaline levels hadn’t leveled out since February 7. 

The day the Dufour-Lapointe sisters had taken Gold and Silver in Freestyle Skiing Ladies’ Moguls had been exhilarating, even though the Netherlands, Austria, and Latvia (among others) soon copied with their own sibling-set medal finishes. 

And when Canadian coach Justin Wadsworth helped out Anton Gafarov, the Russian cross-country skier who broke his ski during his run? Matthew had walked around with the biggest grin on his face for _hours_. 

He completely ignored Alfred when his brother complained that “Your Canadianism is ruining the taste of these burgers, dude!” after Gilmore Junio bowed out of Men’s Speedskating to give teammate Denny Morrison the opportunity to take Silver. 

And when Jan Hudec had tied for Bronze and given Canada his first medal in Men’s Alpine Skiing _in twenty years_ , well, there were tears. 

Tears that continued when Jennifer Jones skipped the Canadian women’s curling team to their first gold since Sandra Schmirler had done so in 1998.

He could go on and on, and only the thought that he was in a fair way to becoming as obnoxious as Alfred helped rein him in.

But now _this_.

Matthew was equally proud of all his athletes, regardless of how they may or may not have placed, but he would be the first to admit that the event of Olympic hockey really was The Big One. 

When his ladies had beaten the Americans in hockey for the Gold (fourth Olympic Gold win straight, no less!) on Wednesday, after a nail-biting, edge-of-your-seat game (ok, third period and overtime), Matthew had been sure his gleeful victory shout had been heard all the way back in Canada. The States had definitely heard it, sitting as Alfred was in the seat beside him, but Alfred had brushed off the loss and told him to wait for the _real_ hockey game tomorrow. A comment which had so incensed the normally timid Canuck that he and Alfred had actually come to blows, though it had degenerated into a wrestling match by the time arena security had arrived to break it up (Canada had won that round too). 

Then when Canada had beaten America _again_ in the men’s hockey semi-finals, well, the sweet, sweet taste of vindictive victory was a heady addiction. Alfred, of course, had promptly locked himself in his room. 

Or rather, he had tried to, at least. 

Being the nice guy he sometimes remembered he was, Alfred had switched with some of his athletes so that the men could have a door with an actual doorknob, leaving Alfred in a room with a door that, well, didn’t. Matthew had respected the intent and left him to sulk until Saturday morning, and then showed up with a stack of his handmade pancakes. He’d coaxed and wheedled the American into eating and bathing, before shoving clothing at him and hustling him out the door to enjoy the last few days of Sochi. The American had moaned and whined for most of the day (especially after he lost in hockey _again_ to Finland), tempting Canada more and more into finding one of those hopefully still-uncovered manholes and tossing his brother into it. 

And then they ran into Sweden.

Having won his men’s hockey semi-final, the Swede was looking forward to crossing sticks with the Canuck in the gold medal final, and he’d said as much. Alfred, of course, took it for the challenge it wasn’t, which had nearly sparked _another_ security incident before Matthew had simply knocked him out with a sleeper hold and then dragged him back to his room. He’d left him out cold (Alfred seemed to have the weirdest reaction where he stayed out for _hours_ after being put in a sleeper hold) and only woke him the next day half an hour before game time. 

Matthew hadn’t even bothered going to bed, surviving on Red Bull and adrenalin. When Canada clinched gold for men’s hockey as well, both North American countries were cheering hysterically (Alfred being Alfred, his cheering had a lot more of a ‘in-your-fucking- _face_ ’ tinge to it, rather than being happy that his brother had won, but Matthew took what he could get). Alfred of course, couldn’t resist the last word, given that he’d ended up with 28 medals to his brother’s 25, but Matthew just shrugged it off. After all, he had the gold medals that really counted – to Alfred anyway.

And then it was the Closing Ceremonies, and saying good-bye to all his friends (old and new), and packing frantically to ensure he made his flight, only to dash madly back to the hotel to grab a very irritated polar bear cub, and then he was on the flight home. As the plane took off, Matthew quietly hugged Kumajiro as the euphoria of the Olympics became tinged with a wistful sadness, now that the fantastic was over and it was back to the ordinary day-to-day business of being a country’s manifestation. 

One bright spot, he mused to himself as Alfred’s obnoxiously loud voice and Arthur’s cultured tones heralded the beginning (or was it the continuance?) of an argument, was that for the next four years (or rather, until the next summer Olympic results were in, given Alfred’s attention span) all he’d have to do when he wanted Alfred to shut up was say the word ‘hockey.’


End file.
